


Heartbreaker

by kbs_was_here



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/F, Gen, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Future!Fic - In a dystopian near-future, where criminals are marooned at sea, Quinn Fabray is captain of the pirate ship, Heartbreaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - A Briefing on the World at Large

**Author's Note:**

> "And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed—if all records told the same tale—then the lie passed into history and became truth. 'Who controls the past' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.'" - George Orwell
> 
> "Your love is like a tidal wave, spinning over my head." - Pat Benatar

It was after the war that the world changed. Freedom caused the war, so they took it away. They said they weren't taking it away, but, rather, removing some of the options that caused so many problems.

Variety causes dissent.

It was so long ago, now. No one remembers life before the war. Even if they did, they'd tell you it's better now. People need direction, people need structure, people need. The government provides because the government knows. They watch because they care. Privacy is a necessity of criminals, not citizens.

Historically, it was the Final Great War that joined nations under one flag, and once they unified, they established the Utopian Era. The calendar reset to UE 0. By UE 3, the Utopia Regime proved an enormous success and erased the concept of third world nations forever from the face of the world.

Despite the efforts of a unified planet, there are still problems. Rebels arise from time to time, although the UR would rather not disclose any information regarding those who resist the successes of their planetary rehabilitation. In the case of such a situation, however, the UR simply removes the problem.

In earlier times, in points of history that have since been erased from the Library of Knowledge (for the better of the people, there's no need to remind them of tumultuous times), such resistance would have been eradicated by methods of imprisonment or execution. Perhaps this still happens, but only on the rarest of occasions. The UR has no interest in wasting their money housing criminals.

Instead, offenders are taken to the expanse of the Midseas and removed from Utopian Life. Only Utopian Cruiser Officers are said to know the exact procedure, but rumor tells that a Rebel Offender might be handed over to their own kind and forced to fight for their life to prove worthy of existence outside Utopian Life. Rebel Offenders are a vicious lot and there is no fate more brutal than facing their own kind.

There is some criticism that this Rebel Extraction policy is a source of piracy in the Midseas. The UR insists that pirates are nothing more than a fictional element of Life Before. They cannot, however, deny that there have been occasional instances of bandits boarding vacation vessels, as many Citizens know someone who has experienced this exact scenario. The UR does remind its population that stories have a tendency to grow larger than the actual facts within and there should be no serious concern about the safety of travel across the Midseas while aboard an official Utopian Sea Vessel.

At the end of each and every day, remember: Utopia begins with you.


	2. Like a Thunderbolt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”  
> ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

“Nobody make any sudden movements!”

Brody Weston hated women in big hats. Women in big hats usually thought they were attractive and important. His mother wore big hats. Giant saucers that encircled her head, like those paintings of God's Mother he'd seen on a Third Form school outing. God's Mother probably thought she was important.

Brody knew better. Mothers are not important, regardless of how much money they contribute to the Utopian Fund. Because mothers lie. Mothers seduce members of the Servanthood, a different tryst each week. Mothers are whores.

Brody felt no remorse the day he reported his mother to the Utopian Patrol. He didn't weep the night they dragged her away. He didn't flinch when she screamed, when they beat her with batons before shoving her into the back of the transport. She was not important.

Brody didn't worry about who might care for him after his mother was removed. He knew Citizen Services would provide him with a new home. A responsible home. An important home. A home without mothers.

Brody lived in the Citizen's Youth Home for ten years and proved to be a most exemplary Young Citizen. “YC Weston is attentive and loyal to the Utopian cause.” This was a common remark found in Brody's progress reports. Instructors often rewarded him with a position of power within his classes, where he led his peers in the Pledge Ceremonies and served as a mentor to those younger than himself.

His crossover into adulthood was initiated with his acceptance to the Utopian Patrol Academy. His life as an active Young Citizen gave him an advantage over cadets who came to understand the importance of Utopian allegiance later in life. Brody already knew Utopian protocol to the extent that it was a part of him.

Brody graduated from the academy with top honors, which allowed him the opportunity to serve on board Tomorrow, a Class 7 Utopian Luxury Liner where he quickly climbed the ranks to become Lieutenant Weston. He enjoyed his service aboard Tomorrow, where he shone as a prime example of a Utopian Serviceman.

He loved his job. He loved the Regime, he loved the purpose it gave him. But he suffered one severe weakness. He hated woman in big hats.

In situations, such as the one at immediate hand, he found himself focused on a woman on the second tier of the main galley, with an enormous wafer perched atop her head. And this was a problem, because, while his attention was on the head wear, pirates boarded Tomorrow.

“I said, don't move!” A stocky man waved a pistol at a group of terrified Citizens. The sides of his head were shaved and the rest of his hair was raised up into a mohawk.

“Don't let him get you too excited.” A woman stepped into the galley, hands on her hips. Her physical presence wasn’t that imposing, but there was an air of control about her, both in her manner and in the way her appearance was flawless, right down to the tight ponytail that held her blonde hair back out of her face. “We apologize for the disruption, but we're just here to collect the sea tax from our Utopian friends, here.” She adjusted her stature, arms crossed over her chest, as if waiting for something. Quinn Fabray knew how to appear patient, but the actual execution of patience proved more difficult when those around her tested it.

Sebastian Smythe, Captain of Tomorrow, appeared on the third tier, somewhere above the woman in the hat. “You're not accomplishing anything, here, criminals. Leave these good Citizens alone.”

“You're not fooling anyone, Smythe.” Quinn rested her hand on the holstered pistol attached to her hip. “We don't want anything from these people, we just want the payroll.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Smythe leaned against the railing. “We're a vacation charter vessel, not government.”

“It's all government and you know it.”

“Cap, this is just wastin' our time.” The mohawked guy with the pistol eyed the ship's passengers. He lunged into the crowd of people and cocked his weapon. Everyone around him scrambled out of the way, leaving a young man in a wheelchair at the mercy of the pirate. “You, wheels, what's your name?”

“Abraham.”

“Hey, Abe. Tell 'em to give us the payroll.”

“Give it to them, please!” Abe's voice cracked as he cried out to the Captain above.

Quinn called out after her surly companion. “Puck, take it easy.”

“Gotta get it done, don't we?”

“I suppose. I just don't like this way.”

“No one likes it, Cap.”

“That's true.” She fixed her gaze on Smythe. “I don't like this. You like it, Smythe?”

Puck rested his foot on the seat of the wheelchair. “You pay your taxes, kid?”

One of Abe’s gloved hands reached up to adjust his thick-rimmed glasses. “Yes.”

“You do the Pledge?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Every morning?”

“Yes.”

“You're a good Citizen, ain't you Abe?”

“Yes.”

“You give a lot to your government. Maybe they should give a little for you.”

Quinn still kept her eyes on Smythe. “You hearing this, Smythe? It'd be a shame to lose such a bright young Citizen on your watch.”

Smythe knew a dead passenger would generate problems at port. Ticket sales would drop because, despite the Regime's insistence that the Midseas were safe waters, Citizens still managed to spread information to each other.

“Lieutenant Weston, please report to the Purser. Tell him to ready the payroll for pickup.”

Brody pulled his gaze from the second tier and glanced higher. “Yes, Captain.” He saluted, then pivoted to exit the galley.

Quinn stepped between Brody and the door. “I think you might need some help carrying all that money.” She nodded to two of her crew. “Lt. Weston, this is Lopez and Pierce. They'll be happy to help. You ladies play nice with the Lieutenant.”

Utopian Officers are trained to avoid thoughts of personal vengeance, but Brody couldn't help allowing himself a few thoughts of revenge on this woman who took such advantage of the Regime.

To her credit, she wasn't wearing a hat.

* * *

Serendipity Island sat in the Lower Midseas, well away from the shipping lanes of Utopia. The residents of the island had no use for Utopian Life, as they had been extracted, for whatever reasons. While the seas had been filled with violent criminals and vagrants, there were small clusters of islands where many former Citizens found refuge.

Those removed from Utopian Life weren't all violent or even criminals (by standards of Life Before). They were simply individuals. And there was no place for individuals in Utopia.

Such islands were rich in ethnic and social diversity, and most people kept to themselves, not too keen on the Utopian concept that All Information is Everyone's Information. Islanders enjoyed something known as privacy, which the Utopian Regime would have its Citizens believe to be an unnecessary evil. But the inhabitants of the islands regarded privacy with high honor.

Your past life was irrelevant when you came to a place such as Serendipity. Relocation away from the mainlands gave each person an opportunity to begin anew. Had you been a serious criminal in your Utopian Life, it didn't matter on the island, so long as you followed the Islander's Credo of Respect and General Ethics. There were no Pre-ordained Life Occupations, as there were on the mainlands. Your life was what you made of it, each and every day.

Islands also served as ports of call for midseas pirates, who supplied the towns with various cargoes in exchange for payment, be it monetary or service based. There were a few islanders who managed to exit their former lives with their wealth, which proved useless in island life, save for paying pirates.

On the mainlands, the rich were always rich and the poor always poor. Your quality of life was determined by a number of factors calculated by the government and exacted by their servicemen. By the time any Citizen reached adulthood, their future was already mapped out.

Such is the story of Rachel.

* * *

**_PopSensation Arrested After Assaulting Senator at Sold Out Performance (press release from one month ago, source withheld)_**

Rachel Barbra Berry, was born UE 29 to Leroy and Hiram Berry in New York, Newest York.

By age six, it was already apparent to her parents and professors that Rachel would become someone important. A beautiful child, perfect features and driven personality, her father was quoted saying, “I know her Life Map leads her toward a place of greatness.”

Greatness indeed. At age ten, the age all Public Youth Citzens undergo their Occupational Placement Examination, it was revealed that Rachel would be famous. She had already shown musical ability in her Early Form education, so it was no surprise to those who knew her that she was given the Popular Sensation rating.

Like all PopSens, she began immediate training at the PopSensation Institute and underwent the necessary surgical procedures to ensure perpetual aesthetic beauty. In UE 45, Rachel made her Mainland debut on the Utopian Entertainment Venue, where all top level PopSens appear for their introductions.

While all Celebrities are designed and maintained for the utmost enjoyment of all Citizens, there are, on occasion, specific personas who garner more attention than others and those who wane in the public's interest. It was assumed that Justin Bieber 2.0 would be an enormous success, yet audiences did not express any extraordinary interest in him during his debut broadcast. Rachel, however, managed sixty-three shares on the Utopian Rating Network, meaning that sixty-three percent of all visual entertainment devices that were logged onto the Network were tuned into her inaugural performance.

Every PopSens, like all Top Level Celebrities, are ensured the same Life Status. It is a scientific fact that people of talent and ability must have access to luxury at all times, because they are designed for it. A mine worker, for instance, would not know or understand things such as Comfort and Leisure. A Celebrity's work is so intense and demanding that their very mental stability depends on access to money and elements of wealth.

This also coincides with their ability to intellectualize. Celebrities are not meant for deep thought or logical practices. They are capable of only the most rudimentary scholastic tasks, such as spelling of basic words and simple math. Anything more would overload their senses and jeopardize their ability to perform. This is also why the initial standard procedures for any Young Citizen chosen for Celebrity status include de-education.

Rachel showed tremendous staying power after her highly anticipated debut. She was a favorite Celebrity of Senator Menkins, who adamantly followed her career since her first appearance on UEV. Senator Menkins personally invited Rachel to perform at his annual Citizen's Recognition Event, where he personally recognized notable Citizens within his district.

Rachel performed with brilliant intensity, likely to offset her now-obvious plan against the Senator. It is assumed the shot was fired as Senator Menkins approached the podium, and shock prevented him from even knowing he'd been struck by the bullet. The sound the event attendees heard moments later was an echo, bouncing off the walls of the concert hall. It was after this rebound of sound that Rachel rushed onto the stage, screaming that the Senator “stay down” before she tackled him.

Once the assailant was removed from view of the terrified audience, the Utopian Patrol regained control of the event, ensuring all in attendance that the situation had already been resolved, that the attacker had somehow been tampered, most likely by an Island Task Force or some related branch of terrorists.

Safety prevails, despite any efforts on the ITF or their allies. The UR has implemented further systems of surveillance on all fronts and we, the Citizens may rest easy knowing that we are constantly under watch.

* * *

When Brody attended the Utopian Patrol Academy, he had been the model, the one others were instructed to look to as an example. But half a decade before Cadets were told to look to Weston for guidance, there was another, a better representation of the Utopian Ideal.

Quinn Fabray commanded the attention of lesser, and even greater, Cadets in her class. Always prepared, always prompt, always perfection in the eyes of her instructors, she knew and loved the methods and procedures of Academy life.

Upon graduation, she had already achieved the rank of Lieutenant and excelled to Commander within two years of active duty aboard the Westerner. An armed transport ship, the Westerner carried the Citizen's goods between the Mainlands. It was while serving on the Westerner that Quinn lost her strongest and most devout beliefs in the System and the Regime.

* * *

_**UE 47 (more than a decade ago)** _

The Westerner cut through the Midseas during a standard cross between the Mainlands. The crew had been at sea for six days, marking the midpoint of the journey. To the Midseas Patrol, a trip such as this was ordinary, the days weren't counted, no one marked through the squares on a calendar. Twelve days across, two days in port, twelve days back, and so forth. As it states in every Young Citizen's First Form reader, “Transport assists progress, progress is the sound of Citizens in motion, and motion moves the world.”

Lieutenant Sue Sylvester, a recent addition to the crew, sat in the Communications Office, where she served as the Westerner's Comm Officer. She'd crossed and recrossed the Midseas three times on this vessel, spending each night watching the bank of monitors that linked all on board with the Mainland. This night would be different.

Sue retrieved her personal entertainment unit from its belt pouch. It was a regulation Utopian Patrol issue audio/visual entertainment device, but Sue put it to sinister use as she uploaded a file marked “Ill Communication” onto the ship's computer. The monitors flickered, then resumed their frame rates. Anyone monitoring the Westerner from a remote source would see the same thing they'd been watching all night.

Sue switched on her personal communications device. “B Shift, lights out.”

Outside the Captain's Quarters, Petty Officer Becky Jackson received the signal from Sue. She swiped her modified key card through the slot outside the Captain's door.

The next morning, the crew reported to the Main Galley for the Morning Pledge. It was there they saw their Captain, gutted and spread-eagle across the floor, his blood seeped into the carpet, staining the Eagle Insignia of the Utopian Regime.

“This is what you can look forward to,” Sue stood over the body, “if you refuse what I am about to offer.”

Behind Sue stood half a dozen crew members, including Becky.

“Utopia is a lie. Your government lies. Everything you stand for is built on lies. I'm taking this ship. You may join me. Or you can join him.” Sue nodded toward the lifeless Captain. “And from now on, call me Captain.” She gestured at the remainder of the crew. “Sort them out,” she said to Becky, then turned and began to walk out of the galley.

“Where are you going?” Quinn wasn't even sure why she'd spoken.

Sue turned back around. “My business is Captain's business and therefore none of yours.”

“I mean,” Quinn hesitated, “where are you going with the ship?”

“You question your captain, Fabray?”

“I just think... ma’am, that I'd like to know my options. My understanding is that this is a life or death situation, correct?”

“You talk too much.”

“Perhaps, ma’am.”

Sue stood a head taller than Quinn and the subtle touches of gray in her hair suggested she was certainly older than the woman currently confronting her. Yet, she was amused.

“North.”

“North, ma’am?”

“I'd like to see a polar bear.”

“They have polar bears in the zoo. They can't survive anywhere, else.”

“Well, I'd like to see for myself. Wouldn't you?”

“I've seen one, ma’am.”

“In a zoo.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I want to see one in the wild, if possible. And then I want to hunt it.”

“Why take the risk?”

“Because, Fabray. Because, now, I can.”


	3. The Ones Who Flirt with Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're the ones who flirt with disaster, on your ass we'll pounce like a panther."  
> \- Ke$ha

“You're a good citizen, ain't you, Abe?”

“Shut up and pay up, Puck.” Artie Abrams slapped his cards on the galley table.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd played the helpless cripple in the pirate raid of Tomorrow's payroll. Had any of the Patrol aboard the boat asked to see his Citizen's ID, they'd have learned that “Abraham” had no Citizen status. It had been deactivated two years prior for hacking the Utopian Bureau of Investigation's mainframe and replacing the boring mauve background with nude pictures of Kitty Wilde, star of Paranormal Forensic Emergency: New Athens.

In fact, the only reality to his performance as Distressed Crippled Citizen was his bio-powered wheelchair, and that had been a fixture in his life ever since age three. Had he tested lower on his Pre-Form entrance exam, he may have been a likely candidate for Spinal Reformation, but his highly ranked intelligence quotient proved him a perfect candidate as a Mainframe Development Engineer. Therefore, upright bipedal mobility was not, and never would be, a necessity in Artie's life.

Noah Puckerman, big on talk, small on tact, groaned and shoved the stack of wooden poker chips toward Artie. “You ain't cheatin’ me, are you, wheels?”

“Cards don't lie.”

“People do, though.”

“We're people, Puck, we're family.”

The galley décor paid tribute to a time long forgotten, with faux wood paneling and a well worn floor covering that might have shag carpeting before Utopia reigned supreme. It was the heart of Quinn's ship, which she'd named Heartbreaker, a sloop designed for speed and carrying small amounts of cargo. Her arsenal was small and defensive only, as Heartbreaker was not designed for typical pillage and plunder.

Not that the Heartbreaker crew wasn't inclined to thievery; their livelihood thrived on stealing from the Utopian Transports and selling the goods to Islanders. But they didn't set out to massacre and destroy all who crossed their path as other pirates did across the Midseas. Pirates like Sue Sylvester.

Quinn stepped through the galley doorway and made her way to the store cupboards. “Puck, on deck. Artie, check in with Tina. We're docking.” She sorted through the cans and bottles then slammed the cupboard door. “And stay the hell out of my canned peaches or I'll slam your skulls between the hull and the dock when we get to H-Hub.”

Artie and Puck watched her storm out the door the led to the deck above.

Puck gathered the cards and pushed them into a shuffle. “Some family.”

* * *

H-Hub stood for Hummel's Hub, a port on the northern coast of Serendipity Island. To the Heartbreaker Crew, Serendipity Island was the closest thing to home away from the Heartbreaker herself.

When Quinn served on the Westerner, there was no break in the monotony of shore to shore travel. To an active USV Officer, it didn't matter, because that was all an Officer knew. But once Sue Sylvester freed the crew of their Utopian duties, the structure of life on the Mainlands or government transit vessels proved to be a short step above boredom.

Of course, there were several members of the Westerner's crew who never lived to see the life beyond Utopian sea ports. Those who hadn't succumbed to Sue's persuasion were placed on rafts and left adrift without provisions.

Quinn sometimes wondered what ever became of her fellow officers she abandoned at sea. Sue gained control of the Westerner well into the night and there was no telling how far she'd taken them off the main transport lanes. The chances of any ship coming across three tiny life preservation flotation units bobbing between wave after wave on the Midseas were few and far between. Still, it was a curiosity Quinn couldn't shake from the back of her mind.

There was no such thing as a rogue Utopian Officer. While the Regime took great care in removing unwanted elements from Citizen society, those in its service we not given such a luxury. You either lived to serve or did not live at all. Allegiance to the Regime was a precious commodity to the Regime itself, and those questioning its power and purpose from within posed a serious threat. If there were any surviving crew from the Westerner, they would be certain to inform their superiors about the pirate takeover of their ship and gladly provide the list of names belonging to the traitorous crew.

Despite the thought nagging at the back of her brain, Quinn actively chose to believe the Westerner became a ghost ship and vanished into the night. Sue had to have known that it would be the best execution of his plan. While she'd become captain by way of gruesome blood work, she was still a member of the Utopian Patrol and fully understood that she'd be the hard target of an intense search if she were pegged as the culprit. In fact, Quinn reasoned that she may not have even sent the remaining crew to fare at sea, but killed them before loading their bodies onto the rafts. It seemed like a risk, however small, and in the years after she'd commandeered the Westerner, Quinn had learned quite a bit about Sue Sylvester. This included the fact that, while Sue lived for excitement and adventure, she strategically planned the travel of his ship (which she'd whimsically renamed Cheerio, as a goodbye to her former existence) to work around all the major shipping lanes to avoid recognition. Any attacks performed by her crew were done at night, when the ship couldn't be physically identified. Sue herself rarely ever boarded any ship she'd targeted, and those who identified her were not left in any condition to report what or who they'd seen.

Quinn's years at the academy were based around high intensity physical conditioning and classes designed to reiterate concepts about Patriotism and Allegiance. It was a barrage of information and inundation, leaving no room for free thought.

Two weeks on board the Cheerio taught Quinn more than those years at the hands of the Academy Drill Instructors. Everything there had been presented in the form of scenarios and virtual exercises. Sue provided simple experience. Do it or die. Straightforward with no room for error. You didn't listen, you lost a finger. You didn't pay attention, you lost your life. And it was your own fault.

Utopian Life held everyone responsible for the unified way of life. Life on the Midseas, away from the transport ships and the Regime, that Life taught responsibility of self.

* * *

Rachel Berry never shot anyone. Not even the scumbag pedophile holding the office of Senator.

That night, at the Citizen's Recognition Event, Rachel exited the stage after her performance and waited with Henri St. Pierre, her agent, while Senator Menkins began his speech. It was after he'd been speaking at the podium for several moments when Rachel and Henri both heard the gun shot.

Before any of the senator's aides reached his side, Rachel was already there, pressing one of her signature elbow length gloves to the bullet hole in the Menkins' shoulder.

She held the glove tightly against the wound. “Don't move, sir. You're going to be all right. It passed right through, in and out. No vital organ damage.”

The senator did not reply. Instead, he stared at a tattoo on the arm of the PopSens. A red cross, like the symbol of Former Switzerland. And under the cross was a series of numbers.

“Help!” The senator struggled to get away from Rachel.

“Sir, please, don't move.”

“Help!” He signaled one of his now present attendants. “Arrest this woman. She's a criminal.”

Rachel didn't fight as the senator's men pulled her to her feet and escorted her off the stage. She didn't resist when they eased her into the back of the Patrol Cruiser. She didn't plead any innocence to the charges against her.

She had violated the law. She, Rachel Barbra Berry, was a doctor.

* * *

“Listen, you swarthy bastard, you owe me!” This was the way Tina Cohen-Chang addressed her superior officer.

“Sit down, girlie. It's comin'.”

“You bet it is.”

When the Heartbreaker Crew spent time on land, they spent a good deal of it in pubs, much like the Shattered Barrel Alehouse. The Shattered Barrel was Serendipity Island's watering hole, where one might find any common group of thugs and pirates mingling with regular island folk. Everyone, regardless of their station in life can use a drink from time to time.

Burt, the Barrel's bartender, had a strict No Trouble policy and wasn't afraid to eject those who didn't abide it. Those who knew Burt knew his limits and those who didn't were quick to know the feeling of their ass bouncing off the gravel roadway outside the front door.

Tina Cohen-Chang ran communications for the Heartbreaker. At seventeen years old, she should have been enrolled in some variant of Life Training on the Mainlands. Instead, she was on Serendipity Island, in a pub, demanding booze from a man twice her age and three times her size. The best part was that Puck listened.

While one might question the ethics of underage drinking, they couldn't deny his love for the girl. Nothing romantic, but they held a definite bond. At one point in time, Puck had a little sister, and while he spent a good amount of his days forgetting his life before the Midseas, he'd never lost the memory of brotherly love.

“Can you three please keep it down?” Quinn glared at her crew. “At least wait until you're drunk to start acting belligerent.”

She shook her head and made her way over to the bar, where a brunette woman sat on a barstool. There was an essence of familiarity about her and this woman seemed overdressed for an afternoon at the Shattered Barrel, particularly the satin elbow length gloves.

Just as Quinn was about to reach the bar, a mass of sinewy flesh and testosterone stepped in her way.

And then it spoke to the woman. “Buy you a drink?”

“No, thank you,” was her quick reply.

“Aw, c'mon. You think 'cause yer all dressed fancy you cain't lemme buy you somethin'?”

“No, it has nothing to do with my attire.”

“You bein' smart?”

“Possibly.”

Quinn liked this woman.

“Jus' one. Me and you. Over at my table. Quiet like.”

“I said no.”

“The lady said no, Azimio.” Burt intervened from his place behind the counter.

Azimio shifted his massive body to face Burt. “This ain't yours to discuss, barkeep. Jus' do your job and sling those ales. Two of 'em. And whatever the lady wants.” He pivoted back to face the woman.

Only Quinn was in her place. “Hi.” She whipped her head forward, making contact with the bridge of Azimio's nose.

“Sonuvabitch!” His hands flew up to his face, blood covering his fingers.

“Actually, I think just 'bitch' is appropriate.” Quinn motioned to Puck, who was already up on his feet.

Puck was a size or so smaller than Azimio, but that also meant he was faster and that made it easier to dodge Azimio's clumsy punches.

“Take it outside!” Burt barked.

The fight gravitated toward the door, and then, as Azimio flung himself at Puck, it moved through the door, leaving only splinters and hinges.

Quinn cringed. “Sorry about that, Burt.”

“I'll just put it on your tab.”

The woman placed her hand on Quinn's arm. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sure. It's what we do. Cause a ruckus. To be fair, it's usually after a couple drinks.”

“Right.” The woman turned to Burt. “Get them as many rounds as they want. On me.”

“Sure thing Ms. Berry.”

Quinn straightened. “Oh, no, I didn't mean you had to...”

“I know. But I have to thank you somehow.”

Several rounds later, the Heartbreaker crew had gravitated toward storytelling.

Artie slammed his mug on the table. “Okay, tell us how you became first mate.”

Puck moaned. “You already know that story.”

“Tell it,” Tina said.

Artie nodded. “Yeah. Tell it.”

They beat their cups on the table as they chanted, “Tell it! Tell it!”

“Okay!” Puck grabbed both of their mugs to silence the clattering.

* * *

_**Ten Years Ago, the Shattered Barrel Alehouse.** _

Quinn whipped her head forward, making contact with the bridge of Puck's nose.

“Sonuvabitch!” His hands flew up to his face, blood covering his fingers.

“Actually, I think just 'bitch' is appropriate.”

Puck stumbled backward, shoving his barstool into Quinn's legs. She tumbled onto the floor, then popped back up next to a nearby table. She picked up a heavy glass mug off the table, guzzled the contents, then flung the empty mug at Puck's groin. Immediately following the cup to crotch contact, the eventual first mate collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Puck thoughtfully savored his ale before continuing. “Somewhere between the crotch shot and her sixth drink, Quinn agreed to transport me to the Coastal Reef, and only the Coastal Reef. It was a half a day's trip and I was willing to pay in full. And that was nearly--

“Ten years ago!” Tina and Artie chimed in unison, then clanked their mugs together.

“I love that story,” said Artie.

“At least I have a story,” replied Puck.

“We have stories,” interjected Tina, “They're just not as... action packed.”

“Getting a job you applied for is not a story.”

Rachel approached the table. “Another round?”

“Oh, no.” Quinn rose to her feet. “You've been generous enough. I can't let you buy any more drinks.”

“Maybe one more,” said Artie.

“Yeah, Cap'n. It's not polite to refuse a lady. Refuse.” Tina played with the word. “Re-fuse. Y'know, th' more I say it, the less it's a word. “

“Nah.” Artie shook his head. “Refuse. Still a word to me. Re. Fuse.”

Quinn gently grabbed Rachel's elbow and led her toward the bar. “Ignore them, they're drunk.”

“They seem like a good crew.” Rachel nodded to Burt. “One more round.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Berry.” Burt lined up a row of steins on the bar.

Quinn studied her face. Ms. Berry. Then it came to her. “Wait a minute. You’re Rachel B--!”

Rachel gripped Quinn’s wrist, then glanced around the bar. No one was paying any attention. “I didn't really want to call attention to that. But, yes.”

“A real life PopSens. Here. Wow. This is... wow.” Quinn took a large gulp from the glass of ale Burt had set in front of her. “It's an honor.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm.”

“Normally, I don’t really care. But something tells me you’re different.” Quinn leaned against the bar, her body facing Rachel. “You certainly seem out of place in a splintery old seaside pub like this one.”

“Actually, I'm here to see you.”

“Me?” Quinn’s eyebrow lifted as a smirk played on her lips. She was captain of her own ship, relatively well-known in these parts. And when a pretty lady like this one came looking for her, there was usually something specific she wanted.

“Yes, you.” Rachel scooted closer and lowered her voice. “Look, Captain Fabray, I... I'm not really sure how to--”

“First of all, call me Quinn.”

“All right. Quinn. I guess I'm trying to find out if you... Wow, I didn't think this would be so difficult.”

“Relax, this isn't some uptight Utopian pub. You can just ask.”

“Right. I'm still getting used to that idea.”

“It's a different world out here.” Quinn took a drink and eased closer to Rachel. “And it is the modern age, after all.”

“Guess so.”

“So?” Quinn cocked her head, playful.

Rachel poked at the ice in her glass, then took a deep breath. “So, is there an opening on your crew?”

Quinn straightened up. “My crew?”

“Yeah. From what I’ve heard, you're the one to talk to if I'm looking to disappear.”

“Right. Of course. So you want to join my crew.” Quinn’s back was now pressed against the mahogany bar top as she scanned the room over the top of her stein. “What makes you want to disappear?” She sucked down the rest of her drink and tapped the glass on the bar, signaling her desire for another.

Burt slid another into her hand.

“I ran into some trouble on the Mainland.”

“There isn’t anybody on this island who couldn’t say the same. Once you’re out here, you’re out here. No need to take to the seas.”

“I can’t stay here. All anyone wants to do is ask me to sing or try to romance me. Or both.”

“Aren’t people like you supposed to want to sing?” Quinn asks.

“People like me,” the words were pointed as Rachel threw them back at Quinn, “aren’t the entertainment robots everyone seems to think we are.” She dropped a handful of coins on the counter. “That’s for the tab. And you seemed much less ignorant when you thought I was going to sleep with you.”

Quinn put up a hand in defense. “Look, lady, I’m not trying to cause trouble. You came to me. I’m just saying what I know about folks in your line of work.”

“You know nothing about me. Or my line of work.” Rachel held up her left arm and yanked the satin of the glove toward her wrist.

Quinn’s eyes fell on the red cross and the string of numbers. “You’re licensed,” she noted, her voice quiet. In particular, the last three numbers stood out to her. “518. That’s--”

“A surgeon. And I’m a good one.” Rachel rolled the glove back up toward her elbow. “I don’t want to stay here. If you don’t need a ship’s doctor, I’m sure some other crew will be happy to have one.” She stepped up on a rung of the bar stool and held her hands to her mouth. “Hi, hello! Is anyone loo--”

Quinn grabbed Rachel’s arm and pulled her back down. “I get it. No need for the dramatics.”

“I thought that’s what you expected from people like me.”

“Look, I don’t really know what to expect from you. But if you’re a legitimate doctor, we could use that. That is, if you think you can handle life on a boat.”

Rachel gave Quinn a once over. “Can’t be that hard.”

“Watch yourself, Doc.”

“I will if you will, Captain.”


End file.
